


The City's Children Have Grown

by parka_girl



Category: Infinite (Band), Monsta X (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parka_girl/pseuds/parka_girl
Summary: "Fuck." Myungsu whispers, though he is unsure who he's cursing, himself or the city.He feels the man's hand on his shoulder, gently holding him. Myungsu finds his feet under him, pulling back slightly. The city flares again and Myungsu tilts his head slightly, studying the man. There is something about him, a look on his face that Myungsu recognizes."Oh." Myungsu says, his voice soft. "You feel it." He says before he can think better of it.The city hums it's pleasure as the man stares at him, open mouthed. Then, abruptly, it shuts. He studies Myungsu, backing away for a second and then stopping. Myungsu can see what he's feeling, it is written across his face. Myungsu thinks back to the train, to the man's gaze on his own. He thinks back to the station, to the way the city's hum changed when his gaze found the man's."Fuck." The man says, but there's a slow grin on his face.





	1. 01. Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> There are three characters in this story: Myungsu, Kihyun, and the city who is an AI of sorts. The chapters alternate between Myungsu and Kihyun's points of view, beginning with Myungsu. The final chapter is from the point of view of the city itself. 
> 
> If you'd like a playlist to listen to while reading this, I would recommend [this one](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL86yv0Y4URd3rymytDfefk-tFRZ77j_Fc) (link to YT playlist) that I've made.

Sometimes Myungsu feels like the city moves around him, as if he is static like the sun and the city is made up of planets and moons and stars. If he stands still, he thinks he can feel the city alive around him, pushing back at him, reaching into him. It is his secret. He mentioned it once to a boyfriend who had looked at him as though he'd sprouted horns and a tail. Since that conversation, he'd never mentioned it again. Sometimes the secret weighed down on him, like an anchor dragging him to the depths of the ocean. But sometimes it didn't. 

Myungsu looks up, the sky blue and clear above him. The wind, nothing but a gentle breeze, swirls around him. It is late summer, almost fall, but it's warm and beautiful out. He sits on a bench, in a park near the office building where he works. The remains of his lunch sit on the bench next to him. He closes his eyes, leaning against the back of the bench. He cannot hear the sounds of the city, but he can feel them. The low hum of energy that powers everything around him. 

In so many ways, the city that Myungsu loves so much is an illusion. The grass in the park behind him, the flowers next to the bench, the blue sky above him, even the breeze, they are all artificial. If he kept walking toward the edge of the city, he would run into clear walls that keep the toxicity of Earth out and humanity alive. Myungsu has known no other world, his grandparents sometimes talk about the olden days, when you could go anywhere, whenever you wanted. When the world was more than isolated covered cities and towns. When people drove cars with rubbers wheels on roads that spanned the distances between cities, that covered continents. 

The bench under him hums softly and Myungsu remembers the movies he'd watched with friends, when he was younger. The world he saw on the screen looked so unlike his own and yet he could see pieces of it around him, with all the rough edges filed off. Cars used magnets and gravity to navigate the city streets. Trains operated as they always had, at least that was Myungsu's impression. He could go from his flat to work on a train, but he could also take it from Seoul to Beijing or Hong Kong. There were trains that ran across Russia and into Europe. But mostly, long distances were traversed in two different ways, air transports and water transports. The air transports were much bigger and slower than the airplanes Myungsu's grandparents remembered and covered longer distances. Water transports were the most common, much of the Earth was covered in water. To get almost everywhere else, water transports were the affordable method. 

Myungsu had been on all of them. His parents had taken the family to Tokyo when he was younger and had splurged on an air transport. It was before his grandparents had been too ill to travel. It was the last vacation they'd taken as a family. His father's parents had died not long after. His mother's were still alive, but only just. They no longer lived in Seoul, instead opting to spend their remaining days in Busan. Myungsu visited them a few times a month, taking the train across unfamiliar terrain. He would record it for them, showing it on the screen in the building they lived in. Not just for his grandparents, but for all of the residents. They remembered a world that no longer existed. Myungsu had memory cards full of interviews of the people his grandparents lived with, and his grandparents, too. 

Every other time he'd traveled abroad, he'd taken a water transport. He'd gone to Taiwan with his school class. The island was still an island, but there was no land any longer. It was just an anchored covered city. He'd gone to Australia with his parents upon completion of his military duties. He'd never been further abroad, though sometimes he'd price trips to Europe, even to the United States. He wanted to see the world. 

His wrist buzzes, reminding him he has to return to work. There are pictures, hard copies, that his grandparents have of phones that you carried with you. Everyone has implants now, but there was a time when no one did. Myungsu knows he's too young to appreciate how much his grandparents have lived through, the changes they have witnessed. It is a miracle they survived. Most of his friends only have their parents, no extended family. He knows the stories of the floods, the hurricanes, the earthquakes. He knows they still exist, he is trained as is everyone, on how to survive a disaster. But there was a time when disaster had an entirely different meaning. The covered cities people live in protect them from not just the heat from a vanished atmosphere, but from the storms that rage around them. He doesn't understand how they work, he doesn't need to, but he appreciates that they do. 

Myungsu opens his eyes and checks the time on his wrist, it appears in a soft green color, he has ten minutes. He gets up and stretches, looking around him. There are children playing in the park, there's a couple sitting at one of the tables. There are some elderly people reading the faux newspapers his grandparents favor. They look like newspapers Myungsu's seen in the movies, but they're electronic paper that changes every day, sometimes more often. 

Some things don't change, though. Myungsu still goes to work in an office. He still sits in front of a terminal, still types into a keyboard. But the keyboard isn't solid and the terminal is projected onto the wall. To check his work email, all he needs to do is press his thumb into his wrist. He can view it on his arm or, more probably, he uses a flat surface near him. Some people, he knows, have it wired into their brains and can call up emails with their thoughts. Myungsu had considered it, but wasn't ready to make that leap. The implant in his wrist was inserted when he was born and it worked for him. Messages from his parents arrived the same way, with a light buzzing to inform him they've arrived. 

After a few minutes of people watching, Myungsu gathers up his lunch remains, depositing them into one of the many receptacles sprinkled throughout the park. He walks back to the office, lost in thought. The breezes pushes him along, the street lights change for him, making it easier for him to cross. He knows the city isn't alive, but sometimes he feels like it is. His great grandfather had been one of the hundreds of people who built the covered cities around Korea. Maybe the city remembers. As he steps into the climate-controlled building where he works, he shakes his head to clear it. It's ridiculous, he thinks. A city is just a city.


	2. 02. Indirect

Kihyun sometimes dreams about the city. He's read about it's construction, about the people who gave their lives to make not just Seoul, but all the covered cities. He's been to several of the museums, not just in Asia, but in Africa and North America. His parents wanted him to understand what his great grandparents, their parents and his own grandparents had sacrificed for him. For humanity. Kihyun is intimately aware of the costs the creation of the covered cities. 

His dreams are not entirely his own. Not that he thinks someone is altering them, but he's not entirely sure where his dreams come from. Often, when he wakes up he feels like he's missed something, an important message his dream was trying to tell him. He doesn't already remember, and what he does remember never quite seems like enough. But he's explored so much of the city, just based on his dreams, that he knows something must be getting through. 

When he was little, Kihyun had wanted to be a singer. He'd been pretty good, even scouted by an entertainment company. But his parents had insisted he'd finish school and then the military came calling. By the time he discharged, his interest in singing had been replaced with an insatiable desire to learn about the city. Kihyun had found a job with the planning department after graduating from university. He spent half his time going through blueprints and discovered that much of the Seoul he lived in and loved, and much of Korea itself, was built upon the twentieth century Seoul his great grandparents had lived in, that his grandparents had watched be turned into something different, something safer, something better. 

The rest of his time, Kihyun explored. He'd gotten an implant that allowed him to record everything he saw. He rarely turned it on, except when he was exploring. And, really, he only turned it on when he was exploring for work. What he did on his own time was his own business. Luckily, his implant was not connected to anything except a server that could only be accessed while he was in the office. He felt safe that no one could hijack his implant or turn it on without his permission. And so Kihyun spent all of his free time learning about Seoul. About Daegu, about Busan. About the tiny enclaves dotting Korea. He wanted to do the same in other countries, but there was something about Korea, about Seoul, that kept him rooted to his job. To the city. 

Not that it stopped him from traveling. Sometimes he'd hop on one of the trains and just ride. He's be overcome with the urge to go and find himself at a station. He wouldn't look at the destination, just get on. And when it felt right, he'd get off. He'd been everywhere in Korea. He'd traveled up into China, through areas of barren land where no enclaves existed. He'd been through the far reaches of Russia, riding with people who had long since stopped speaking Korean or Mandarin and sometimes barely knew any English, the three languages Kihyun knew. He didn't care, he loved it. Sometimes he'd record these trips for personal use. He'd stare out the windows, taking everything in. Occasionally he'd used an ancient handheld camera to record people. He'd interview them, too. He'd been picking up some conversational Russian and found that their stories were as diverse as the ones he'd encountered other places.

Kihyun loves his job in a way he didn't know was possible. Sometimes he'll look at the holographic posters that line his metro station and imagine what that life would've been like. He thinks about how sequestered the pop stars are, how hidden away from the world their life is. He would've hated it, maybe. Or he would've loved it, he can't decide. What he knows for certain, though, is that he doesn't ever want that world now. To be tied down to one location, to be forced to do what other people wanted, it would destroy him. He'd lost boyfriends that way, his desire to explore, to learn, proved to be too much for most of them. 

He doesn't mind, not really. He is happy, fulfilled. He has friends, his parents are still alive, his job gives him a purpose. It is enough. Maybe he'd like something more, but he is not trying to find it. Not now, at any rate. Instead, he lets the city guide him. His dreams push him in different directions and he follows them, sometimes without realizing it. He is okay with that, too. He doesn't talk about it, it's his own secret. But his bosses like what he does, they always give him assignments and the longer he does good work, the more freedom they give him. Kihyun would pick this life again, if he had a choice. 

He sits in his basement office, the artificial window behind him displaying whatever image he'd like. Currently it's showing the view from one of the upstairs offices. It's sunny out, a perfectly pleasant September afternoon. Kihyun scrolls through blueprints recently scanned into their database. It's for a library that no longer exists, but it's importance cannot be understated. History, Kihyun's boss likes to remind him, is what keeps us moving forward. 

Kihyun understands this concept. He has listened to his grandparents talk about their childhood. He's learned about early life in the covered cities. He has seen it first hand, in the smaller enclaves he's visited, the people he's talked to. The city reminds him of this every chance it gets. From the buildings he explores to the pull he feels, the energy pumping through the city. If wasn't for the people who built this city, if it wasn't for the people who've kept it running, where would they be? Kihyun knows the answer, everyone does. 

When he was in school, they were shown documentaries covering the early 2000s. Wars, natural disasters, everything that led up to the creation of the cities. Kihyun is under no illusions about how lucky he is, how lucky the people he talks to are. He has seen things, in enclaves across the globe, that remind him of everything people have lost and gained. His boss, originally from the covered city of Lagos in Nigeria reminds him that the stories he finds in Korea are not exclusive to Korea. When his boss had gone back home for a week, Kihyun had gone with him. He did not feel the same pull to Lagos that Seoul has on him, but he felt something else. Something bigger, something stronger. It reminded him that his world might be Korea, it might be the areas of China and Russia he'd traveled to, but the world was in truth so much bigger. 

But when he'd stepped off the air transport they'd taken, Kihyun had been reminded of exactly what it was he'd missed. He is desperate to travel, but the soft hum of Seoul, the gentle pull that guides him home, that fills his dreams, it reminds him of everything he'd missed, too. He knows he's imagining things, that Seoul is like Lagos which is like New York and London and Berlin. But part of him doesn't care, he knows in his heart that Seoul is his city the same way Lagos is his boss's city. He may not always live in Seoul, but his heart is here.


	3. 03. Enchant

Occasionally Myungsu feels like the city is compelling him to do what it wants. If asked, Myungsu would not be able to explain the feeling. He'll be sitting at his desk in his office, working on a document when without realizing it, he'll have saved his work, close out of his document and was halfway into his jacket. In the past, he'd try to fight it. He would sit himself down, turn his terminal back on and try to work. Inevitably all the work he'd completed would be terrible and he'd have to redo it the next day. Over the years he's learned not to ignore it, he's discovered that allowing the city, because what else could it be, to direct him is the only solution. The city is both insistent and persistent, it always seems to know that what he's doing isn't the most important work. The city has never interrupted him in the middle of something that would get him fired. 

The first time Myungsu felt the city, he was fifteen. He'd missed the bus to school and was waiting for his mum to answer his call at work. Before he got through, a city bus appeared out of nowhere to pick him up. The driver had been slightly confused, especially when the bus managed to drop Myungsu off in time for his first class. Later Myungsu would learn that the driver was only there to make sure the bus didn't run into any trouble, he hadn't actually driven the thing. Myungsu knew then that something was different about him. As a teenager, he couldn't process it and so he did what he felt was best and ignored it. 

As he grew older, he'd grown used to the city's meddling in his life. It wasn't like in comic books, where there were forces of good and evil. The city just was. It had plans for him. Looking back, after the first time he'd told someone -- that boyfriend who dumped him not long after, he realized that the city was carving a path for him. He did some research online, but turned up nothing. There were scattered reports of others who felt like their city was alive around them, but most Myungsu wrote off without considering them. He was certain he wasn't crazy, but that didn't mean anything, not really. And so, in the end, he just stopped fighting it. The city had not let him astray, not while he was enlisted, nor in university. It had, in reality, helped him, mostly without him even noticing it. His job, too, had be found through a push from the city. Myungsu didn't know what the city wanted from him, but when it called to him, he listened. 

Living in an enclosed city didn't mean the seasons ceased to exist, that there weren't storms as well as sunny days. If the storms got too bad outside, the weather inside the dome would act as a mirror. It was one of the ways cities had learned to manage people's safety. Throw a storm up inside the dome and people wouldn't as easily notice the ones outside. At least that was the thinking at the beginning, before Myungsu was born. Now, though, people were always aware of what went on outside the dome. It wasn't as if they couldn't leave, they just couldn't do it without being protected in some way. The storms, too, helped remind people of the way the world used to be, helped them deal with days when the sun didn't shine through their own artificial atmosphere. 

The Friday the city leads Myungsu to the train station, it's storming. It's an early fall thunderstorm, sheets of rain coming down outside Myungsu's office window. He wanted to stay at work until the rains died down, but the city had other ideas. The push was almost forceful and Myungsu did not stop to think as he clocked out of work. He pulled on his rain jacket, carrying his umbrella, the wind was going to blow it away if he wasn't careful. He found himself on a train heading to Busan. He tapped his wrist, looking at his weekend schedule. He had no plans, he rarely had any, which was fine. He'd thought about going to visit his parents, maybe going to one of the memorial sites to take pictures. His favorite hobby was photography and he even had some vintage cameras his grandparents had given him when he discharged from the military. 

But sitting on the warm train, he doesn't have those cameras. He doesn't have anything but his backpack, which does have a change of clothes in it, along with the book he's reading. It looks a bit like what his grandparents called an e-reader, though they hadn't really used them when they were younger, either. Myungsu has a dock in his flat where he sets the book when he isn't reading it to let it charge. He doesn't pull it out, though. Instead, he watches people board the train. It's a late Friday afternoon and the train's crowded, but not overly so. If he'd been taking the metro home, it would've been far more packed. 

A young couple and a baby get on, followed by an elderly man. There are several teenage boys in school uniforms, a man who looks like an actor on a show that Myungsu sometimes watches when he's bored. There are businessmen, a group of ahjummas who Myungsu guesses are on their way home from a trip to Seoul, and a couple of people his own age. Right before the doors slide shut, a man stepped out of the station. He's soaking wet, lacking both a raincoat and an umbrella. The one thing, no, Myungsu thought, one of the things he notices, is that the man has bright pink hair. Myungsu wonders if he's a pop star, his face is attractive though unfamiliar. Another group of teenagers, girls who trail on after him gave him, give the pink-haired man a once over and dismiss him. Maybe, Myungsu thought, he just really likes the color pink. 

Myungsu watches, unable or unwilling to turn away, as the man looks around the train. There are several empty seats, including one next to Myungsu. He watches the man's eyes as they search the train, for someone or something, Myungsu doesn't know. Several times he thinks the man's gaze finds his own, but Myungsu is surely imagining it. And then the train begins to move and Myungsu's distracted. 

He loves the way the train leaves out of the station. The metro he takes to and from work, to meet friends or visit his family, zooms along at a high speed. It goes from not moving to moving almost immediately. But the trains leaving the domes don't have that luxury. They are required to go underground, a slow, gently slope down, before bursting up through the surface. The train grows dark as it enters the tunnel and Myungsu can feel the thrum of the city, content with the knowledge that he's on the right path. Myungsu stares into the darkness, thinking about his grandparents, which is surely the reason he's going to Busan. 

When the train emerges from the tunnel, it's darker than inside the city, though not as dark as the tunnel. Myungsu has only been out of the city during a handful of storms and from the murmur on the train, most people haven't at all. He shifts in his seat, turning to watch the storm. The trains are safe, they make their journeys no matter the weather. That doesn't mean it isn't slightly terrifying to be all alone in a storm. It isn't raining, not like inside the city. Instead the clouds roil, lightening flashing down and the thunder loud enough that Myungsu swears he could feel it. He pulls his rain jacket, still wet, a little tighter around him, as if it will protect him. 

The pull of the city gradually begins to wear off as the train speeds away from Seoul and closer to Busan. Though the storm does not abate, they will rage for days sometimes, Myungsu can feel himself start to relax. He checks the weather, it's not raining in Busan, but it's dreary as expected. Myungsu considers changing out of his wet clothing but decides against it. Instead, he pulls out the tiny video camera he uses to record his trips and turns it on. He rests in against the window, it's lens flush against the window. Myungsu doesn't need to point it, not really. Instead he'll let the tiny computer chips inside do all the work. His grandmother tells him that's cheating, and he no longer argues with her. The cameras he received have taught him that the value of his own gaze, but sometimes it's easier to let the camera do it's own job. 

He records around thirty minutes of the storm, enough to satisfy his grandparents and their friends, before putting the camera away. He turns away from the window, leaning his head against it and shutting his eyes. He loves his grandparents, he loves visiting Busan, but he misses his city.


	4. 04. Objective

Kihyun does not know why he's going to Busan. He hasn't traveled within Korea for almost year. Most of the trips the city, or work, sends him on are out of the country. He's spent far more time traveling around China than in Korea. But when the city, his city, calls, he answers. He has always accepted the city, from the moment he discovered it calling to him. Perhaps it was the city that eventually convinced him he didn't want to be a singer, or maybe the city filled the hole his interest in singing left. What he does know is that he has never fought the city. So when he is compelled to live his office and rush into the train to catch a train to Busan, he does not think twice about it. His only regret is the lack of a jacket. He'll remedy that once he gets to Busan. 

Over the previous weekend he'd gone out with some friends and, when they were all a little too drunk, they'd dyed his hair. It was a two-day affair and when he was sober, he'd expected to hate it. He had booked an appointment at a salon for Monday after work, but it turned out he hadn't hated it. He stands in the pouring rain, taking too long to cross the street, and runs a hand through his hair. It feels the same, but he knows it's not. He likes the way people try not to stare at him. They think, do I know him? Of course they don't, he's just a civil servant, but at the same time he likes that he was willing to do something drastic and keep it. 

If the city has an opinion, it doesn't not share. Instead it hurries him along. There's a ticket waiting at the counter and he scans the code on his wrist and weaves through people, passing a group of teenage girls loitering by the train. He steps on and it's as though he's hit a wall. The city is almost unbearably strong. Kihyun doesn't know what's going on, he hasn't felt anything like this before. The hum has become something larger, something bigger. He turns, looking around, waiting for the hum to find the right key inside him. It almost does, three times. His gaze drifts through the train, stumbling only twice, on a man sitting alone. He looks like he's come from work and has smartly worn a rain jacket. Later Kihyun will realize that the melodic shift in the city's hum only happened twice, but he is cold and wet and the city's hum is drowning out everything else. 

He finds a bathroom as the train starts to move. A train attendant fetches him a towel and soon enough he feels better, if not completely dry. He steps out of the bathroom and finds the train bathed in darkness. The tunnel has dulled the city's hum, rendering it back to a reasonable level. Kihyun makes his way along the aisle, looking for a seat. He almost chooses the empty next to the man with the backpack, but he picks one a few seats back, in an empty row. He pillows the towel and leans against the window. He can see the man's face reflected in the window and he tries not to watch him. He lets his eyes drift shut and the soft motion of the train lulls him into something akin to sleep. 

It doesn't last long, the storm outside the train wakes him with claps of thunder and then he, too, is entranced by the lighting. He has been in more storms than he can remember. Each of them different and unique in their own ways. They never get old, but Kihyun is used to them, at least to some extent. The thrill of riding through them dulls as time passes, but he still turns his camera one, capturing a few spectacular bolts of lightning. His gaze drifts from the window to the man with the backpack. He has a camera, a portable one he's using to film something, the storm maybe? Kihyun squints into the darkness but sees nothing. 

He closes his eyes again, concentrating on the faint thrum of the city. The first time he felt it he was fourteen. He'd auditioned for a musical at his school and gotten the part. He'd almost missed the bus home, but something made him run and he'd made it. Eventually he'd figured out it was the city. He thought about ignoring it, doing the opposite of whatever it wanted, but he hadn't. Even now, so many years later, he doesn't know why he didn't fight it. It always feels right to do what the city asks. It hasn't pointed him in the wrong direction yet. Sure, he doesn't always understand, but even when the city isn't directing him, he often feels the same. 

Throughout his time in the military and in university, the city was a constant, if unobtrusive presence. It would steer him only occasionally and it's only now that he's an adult, with a place of his own and a job, that the city calls more often. A soft buzz wakes him up and he glances at his wrist. He closes his eyes, reading the message from his mum. He closes it without answering, he'll write her later. He doesn't want her to worry. She's never understand his love for travel or his love for Seoul. He was born near the city, but never lived there until university. And once he'd gotten a taste for the capital, he never wanted to go back. It's not that he doesn't visit her, he does. It's mostly that he never stays. 

Kihyun leans back against the seat and opens his eyes again, staring at the ceiling of the train. His last boyfriend left him almost six months before. He'd skipped a dinner date because of the city and of course couldn't explain himself. He'd tried, but failed and his boyfriend had accused him of lying. Kihyun hadn't had the energy to fight and now here he was, single and sitting on a Friday afternoon train to Busan. He wishes he could ask the city what it wants, but he knows he won't get an answer, he's tried before. And yet he tries again. Eyes closed, concentrating. This time, though, he's met with the same wall of feeling that greeted him when he stepped on the train. 

It's weird, he thinks, because according to the train's GPS, they're almost to Busan. In fact, they're descending the tunnel into the city. His city, though, it shouldn't be this strong. It shouldn't be pulling at him, not the way it's doing now. It is filling him up, pushing at his heart. He can barely focus on anything else. It is as if the city as shouting at him to pay attention, but Kihyun has no idea what he's meant to be paying attention to. 

The train comes to a gentle stop in the station and everyone stands. Kihyun knows he looks no different on the outside, but he feels like he's staggering. He follows the crowd off the train and stops as the city does not recede. People crowd around him, pushing him away from the open doors. He barely notices them. The city is thrumming in such a way that Kihyun would swear it was audible. It is not, but he cannot help but look at the people around him. They do not look different. Or at least, Kihyun realizes, most of them don't look different. 

Kihyun is not the only one who is stopped. The man with the backpack is staring at him. Maybe it's the pink hair, Kihyun thinks, but then their gazes meet. The thrum changes, the hum that plays through him feels like something entirely different. It feels in tune, like a string instrument resolving from a dissonance. It feels right in a way that Kihyun has never, ever felt before. He stares at the man, who is staring at him. 

Absently Kihyun wonders if this was the city's goal. Busan. The man. Both of them? But he has no time to find an answer. Another train has pulled into the station, a local train and the man with the backpack has disappeared into the crowd and the thrum of the city is gone. Kihyun feels empty and alone for the first time in a very long time. He pulls himself together, shutting of the camera he'd forgotten was still recording and begins to make his way through the crowd. 

As he looks for a place to eat dinner, he resolutely does not think about the man with the backpack. He ignores the ache he feels, now that the city is gone. He pushes the residual effects of the feeling of rightness away. He imagined it, he convinces himself. For the first time, Kihyun ignores everything the city has taught him in the past. He is too far away for the city to effect him like that, he must've made it up. As he eats dinner in a tiny restaurant, he watches the news on a screen. He focuses on the upcoming election, the controversy over expanding the reach of government into private businesses. He is a civil servant, but he does not always approve of the government he works for. Focusing on the news, and his food, gives him the distract he longs for. 

Before booking a ticket on the train back to Seoul, Kihyun buys a rain jacket. He lingers in a stationary story, looking for something for his mum. He buys a vintage travel guide for his boss and then decides it's time to return to Seoul. He wants his bed, the comfortable hum of the city. And as the train approaches, Kihyun does not feel the thrum from before.


	5. 05. Found

He isn't able to stay long, his grandparents are doing well, but they have dinner plans. Myungsu is slightly annoyed, but at the same time he cannot really be. His grandparents look better than the last time he visited, healthy and happy. They'd watched the storm video he'd taken, talked about his journey and his grandmother had asked him to come back in a week. Myungsu had promised, he wanted to visit more often than once a month. Both of his grandparents had given him hugs and kisses him before sending him on his way. 

Darkness had settled over Busan, though the neighborhood where his grandparents lived was well lit. He finds a convenience kiosk and buys something to eat on the train back to Seoul. He indulges himself and turns on some music. He mostly listens to it in his flat, with speakers that make the sound seem to come at him from all sides. He'd rather use old fashioned and extremely expensive headphones, but he doesn't have anything to plug them into. Sometimes he imagines he'd like the world better 100 years earlier, when his great grandparents were around. 

He shakes his head, clearing those thoughts and shutting the music in his head off. The station is crowded for early evening. Commuters, maybe, and people going to Seoul for the night, the weekend. Myungsu ignores them, interested only in going home. He pictures his bed, warm and inviting. He's tired. As he takes the steps down to the station, the pull of the city seems to come out of nowhere. He staggers a little, unprepared. An older woman reaches out to steady him and he almost forgets to thank her. He pulls himself together, cautiously taking the remaining steps one at a time. 

The platforms are all crowded, but no matter where Myungsu turns, the city feels as if it's at war with him. He isn't clear why. He's going home and he can tell that's what the city wants, but there's something else it wants, too. He grits his teeth, yelling at the city to back the fuck off, to just let him breathe. It does not listen, as if it ever did. Myungsu makes his way through the crowds, toward the platform where the train to Seoul will be arriving soon. As he steps through a door, he catches sight of pink hair. At first he doesn't realize it's the same man as before, but after a moment he does. A second later, just before the city's thrum reverts, he feels it sing in him. It resolves, ever-so-briefly, into something that nearly takes Myungsu's breath away in an entirely new way. But then it's gone, just like the man with the pink hair. 

Myungsu frowns, the city too loud in his head for him to think clearly. A moment or two later the train pulls up and Myungsu boards, finding the nearest window seat. The city does not stop and Myungsu doesn't know if he's ever felt the city so strong, so loud, this far from Seoul. He would like to think about this, but he cannot concentrate on anything. So he just closes his eyes, leaning his head against the cool window. Eventually the doors hiss softly as they close and the train begins its descent into Busan's tunnel. As darkness envelopes them, the city recedes. It's as if, now that Myungsu's on his way back to Seoul, the city has gotten what it wanted. 

He does not think about the city on the trip back. Instead he stares out into the darkness. The storm has passed, or at least moved further away. Sometimes Myungsu thinks he can see lightning in the distance, but it's too far away to be sure. At some point his eyes drift shut and he lets himself slip into sleep. 

Myungsu has never dreamed about the city. Instead, he dreams about ordinary things. Occasionally he has nightmares that wake him, leaving him gasping for air and scared. It is the city that calms him down, the ever present low hum that lulls him back to a dreamless sleep. But most of his dreams are normal, they are the kinds everyone has. Anxiety dreams or ones where Myungsu has found the man of his dreams. Dreams about school or the military or even work. But his dream on the train is that of the city. 

He dreams in skyscrapers and underground caverns. He dreams that he is the city, that it is trying to tell him something. He dreams that he is so close to finding that he's looking for, that the city is so close, too. When Myungsu opens his eyes, he feels like he hasn't slept at all. He glances at the clock on his wrist and realizes they're almost to Seoul. There is a new ache in his chest. No, he thinks, it's not new. It's one he'd buried after he and his last boyfriend broke up. It's loneliness he thought he'd defeated. And he had, really, until the dream. 

Fifteen minutes and then the train begins the descent into the tunnel. Ten minutes underground and Myungsu can feel the city again, full force, but the familiar feeling. The suffocating thrum is nowhere to be found and Myungsu cannot help being relieved. But underneath the thrum, the ache lingers, wrapping its fingers around him. The train ascends into the station and Myungsu stands, along with the rest of the people. He shoulders his backpack and steadies himself. The city is pulling him off the train, it is impatient, as though he has somewhere to be. It almost feels like deja vu, but Myungsu doesn't know why. 

He's been on this train, in this station, hundreds of times. Why should this time be different? He doesn't have an answer and the city doesn't give him one. Myungsu sighs, following the line of people off the train. They step out onto the platform and just as he's about to join the procession toward the stairs to the street, the city crashes into him. It is just as forceful as in Busan, rattling him so much that he stumbles. Maybe it's worse than in Busan. 

Myungsu looks around, but no one else seems to notice. He steps out of the way, standing off to the side. He reaches out, steadying himself on the wall. He closes his eyes, but the city thrums louder in his chest, his ears. He forces his eyes open and looks around. He wants the city to stop, but he wants to know what the city's looking for. Why it's assaulting him as never before. His gaze slides over people exiting the train and then it stops. Across from him, though not looking in his direction, is the man with the pink hair. He looks a bit frazzled, Myungsu thinks. 

Just when Myungsu's about to look somewhere else, the man with the pink hair turns toward him. Abruptly the city's hum changes. It resolves, as it did in Busan, into something soothing. Myungsu cannot fight the city through this, either. The city wants him to move and so he does. He pushes away from the walk, holding the man with the pink hair's gaze. He, too, is moving. The closer they get, the more harmonious the city feels. Myungsu had no idea the city could sound like this, that it could feel like this. The man with the pink hair is closer now, they are so close, only a thin line of people between them. 

Myungsu does not stop, not until he is nearly face to face with the man. They are standing in the middle of the station, creating a barrier of sorts that people would normally be annoyed about, but they are not. Myungsu risks a glance and sees that the people are flowing around them. He turns back to the man with the pink hair and see that he, too, has noticed. Maybe, Myungsu thinks, the city touches everyone, but he's the only one who notices. As he thinks it, the city flares in him, pushing him so that he stumbles forward. Without missing a beat, the man with the pink hair catches him. 

"Fuck." Myungsu whispers, though he is unsure who he's cursing, himself or the city. 

He feels the man's hand on his shoulder, gently holding him. Myungsu finds his feet under him, pulling back slightly. The city flares again and Myungsu tilts his head slightly, studying the man. There is something about him, a look on his face that Myungsu recognizes. 

"Oh." Myungsu says, his voice soft. "You feel it." He says before he can think better of it. 

The city hums it's pleasure as the man stares at him, open mouthed. Then, abruptly, it shuts. He studies Myungsu, backing away for a second and then stopping. Myungsu can see what he's feeling, it is written across his face. Myungsu thinks back to the train, to the man's gaze on his own. He thinks back to the station, to the way the city's hum changed when his gaze found the man's. 

"Fuck." The man says, but there's a slow grin on his face. 

Myungsu mirrors it a little, feeling shy. "Yeah." He answers the unspoken question. 

The man jerks his head slightly, toward the stairs. Myungsu nods and together they turn. Myungsu can feel the city dissipating until nothing's left but a barely noticeable, though satisfied, low hum.


	6. 06. Engage

When Kihyun steps off the train, he does not expect the city to throw everything it has at him. It's worse than on the train. worse but when he sees the man with the backpack, staring at him, it turns into something else. He has a vague understanding that this is what the city wants, but he cannot process it. Instead he lets the city push him forward, as the man moves toward him. The city wants something, it always does, but it's never something concrete. It's never a person. Kihyun cannot remember if the city has ever approved or disapproved of any of his partners, and when he tries to think about it, he comes up empty. 

They are so close now and Kihyun can see that the man must be around his age. They are similar in height, in build. Kihyun wonders why they city chose him. But then the man stumbles forward and Kihyun acts without thinking. He steadies the man, who swears then pulls away slightly. Kihyun feels the city still, but it's urgent now and he does not understand what it wants. He straightens, they are too close, but he doesn't move away. 

They are staring at each other when the man speaks again. "Oh," he says and then, "you feel it." 

Kihyun stares, he feels fear pushing past the city, etching itself onto his chest. He take a step back, away, then another. But the city will not let him. It flares, wiping the fear away. Kihyun stares and then he remembers the train. The force of the city, the way it almost resolved every time he looked at the man. 

"Fuck." He says, a grin on his face. All right, he tells the city, I got it. You want me to talk to him because he's like me. The city pushes at him, gently this time. 

He steps in again, unsure of his voice and tilts his head toward the stairs. They need to get out of here. He is relieved when the man nods, a smile on his face, too. It is awkward and shy and kind of cute. As they walk toward the stairs, and then up into the evening air, he can feel the city sliding away until it's a low, gentle and oddly satisfied hum. 

Kihyun wants to fill the silence as they walk, but he doesn't know what to say. It's too awkward to talk as they walk, not when he doesn't even know the man's name. The city isn't even helping, he doesn't know what to do. The man, though, he seems like he's got something in mind. Kihyun lets him because it's easier, because it seems like the right thing to do. 

He notices, as they walk, that it's stopped raining. The man's rain jacket must be in his backpack. Kihyun looks around as they walk, but his gaze drifts back to the man every time. He swallows, he forces himself to be the adult he always claims to be. 

"I'm Kihyun." He says as they stand, waiting to cross the street. 

The man looks over, flashes him a smile. "Myungsu." 

And there, now he knows the man's name. Myungsu, he thinks to himself. It's a nice name, he repeats it over and over in his head as they walk. Myungsu leads them toward a destination, though what it is Kihyun doesn't know. And then they're there. It's a park. Kihyun's been here before. It's near his work. He looks around, but then Myungsu's walking toward what turns out to be a tiny coffee shop. Kihyun's eaten in the park, wandered around here, but he's never noticed the coffee shop. He follows Myungsu inside. 

There's a woman behind the counter. Myungsu greets her warmly and Kihyun can't remember the time he went into a place near work that serviced by actual people. There are lots of them, he just never spends much time during the day eating out. He orders coffee and once they've gotten their orders, Myungsu leads them back out again. 

The air is warm, a little muggy after the rain, but comfortable. Myungsu leads them to a bench and they sit, side by side. They drink in silence, watching people out for an evening stroll. Kihyun feels like he's in a drama, not one of the new ones, but the old ones that his grandmother used to watch. Romantic music would be playing on the soundtrack, maybe the park would have lights to make it look romantic, too. But this isn't a drama, it's real life. 

"I was fourteen." Kihyun says, talking before he can think better of it. 

Myungsu looks over at him, but Kihyun stares straight ahead. 

"I never talk about it." He continues, his chest constricting slightly. The city is absent except for the low hum. He goes on. "I almost missed the bus, but I made it, just in time. I didn't know how." He stops, looking down at the coffee in his hands. 

When Myungsu speaks, his voice is soft. "I was fifteen. I missed the bus." He says and Kihyun turns when he hears the smile in his voice. "A city bus picked me up of it's own accord." He stops, taking a long drink of his coffee before speaking again. "It took me a long time to accept that it was the city, that I wasn't just making it up." 

Kihyun swallows his own fear, pushing forward. "I never fought it." He confesses, feeling a little embarrassed. When he risks a glance at Myungsu he sees that Myungsu is looking at him with an impressed sort of look on his face. He turns away, blushing slightly. 

"Eventually," Myungsu said, filling in the silence. "I realized that fighting the city made it worse. Now I just ... I just follow whatever it wants." He smiles wryly. "It might not make sense at the time, but it always works out." 

A quiet laugh escapes Kihyun. Myungsu glances over and Kihyun shrugs. "I know exactly what you mean." 

They lapse into silence. Evening slips into night and Kihyun should go home, but he doesn't move. Sitting with Myungsu comforting. He likes knowing that he's not alone. He looks over at Myungsu, who is looking at him. 

"I thought I was the only one." Myungsu says, his voice serious. 

Kihyun bites his bottom lip, nodding a little. "So did I." 

Myungsu nods and then stands. He offers to take Kihyun's empty cup and then Kihyun watches as Myungsu walks to one of the receptacles, throwing them out. He turns back and Kihyun stands. 

"I should ..." He says and Myungsu nods. 

"Me too." He replies. 

Kihyun walks toward the metro stop, Myungsu next to him. They are quiet as the walk to the station, which is no longer crowded. They stand together, waiting for the same train. 

"I work nearby." Kihyun offers. 

Myungsu looks surprised. "Me too."

"Huh." Kihyun replies, surprised and yet not. 

He doesn't have time to say more because the train arrives. They both get in, selecting seats next to each other. The ride is quiet, too. After several minutes Myungsu stands, his stop Kihyun assumes, must be nearby. He looks down at Kihyun, who meets his gaze. 

"Are you busy on Monday?" He asks, carefully, as if he's afraid Kihyun might turn him down. 

"No." Kihyun replies. He is almost never busy during the week. And even if he was, he would make time. He thinks he's beginning to understand what the city wants, maybe a little. 

Another shy smile flashes across Myungsu's face. "Meet me in the park." 

"At 5?" Kihyun asks. 

Myungsu nods as the train comes to a stop. He walks toward the door, then stops, looking back. They look at each other for too long, even after the doors have opened. After Myungsu has stepped out, as the doors slide shut. Kihyun is still staring at the door long after the train has moved on. 

His stop is a few after Myungsu's and he makes his way to his flat in a state of distraction. He cannot remember the last time he felt so comfortable around someone. He curses that he didn't get Myungsu's ID, but maybe he can get it on Monday. He does have things to do tomorrow, but he finds it hard to focus. 

Back at his flat, Kihyun takes a long shower before crawling into bed. His dreams are filled with the city, but he is not underground. Instead he is wandering through parks, staring up at the sky, looking for something. For someone. When he wakes up in the morning, he remembers Myungsu. Remembers their plans. The emptiness in his dream begins to fade and the city sends a soft hum through him and he thinks that maybe he is not alone.


	7. 07. Pauses

To combat his nervousness, Myungsu seeks distractions. It's not that he hasn't had spur of the moment dates, it's more that there seems to be a lot more riding on this date. On Kihyun. Myungsu repeats his name a few times, out loud and in his head. He is grateful he lives alone, there's no one to judge him. As he dresses, he messages his parents. He will spend the day with them, his mum'll be happy. He won't tell her about Kihyun, not yet, not until he's figure out what's really going on. 

While eating breakfast from the compiler in his flat, Myungsu contemplates the city. He remembers the way it felt, when the dissonance of the resolved itself when he and Kihyun finally noticed each other. He can still feel the way it sang through him. The city is conspicuously absent, aside from the low hum Myungsu always feels. It's not really that Myungsu expected anything different, it's more that he was hoping for some sort of sign. 

Walking to the metro, he has an imaginary conversation with the city, something he hasn't done since he was enlisted; lonely and miserable. It is, as always, one-sided, but even now, he feels the city is listening. He asks the city if he's really going on a date with Kihyun. He imagines the city's dissatisfaction with his anxieties, chiding him for not having confidence in himself. He wants to know, to figure everything out now. But he can't. 

The train ride is short, but long enough that he curses himself for saying Monday. Why not today or tomorrow? Weekends are meant for this sort of thing, not Mondays. It's too late now, this Myungsu knows. He doesn't even have Kihyun's number. Again, he imagines the city's disapproval. Though perhaps the city doesn't mind. Maybe it's goal was to get them together and the rest is up to them. Myungsu is not really adverse to this idea and when he thinks about it, he decides that maybe this is the right one. 

He pushes Kihyun and the city out of his mind as he steps off the train. It's sunny, chilly but not cold. Myungsu walks to his parent's building thinking of nothing in particular. He spends the day with his parents, helping them clean out some storage and ends up spending the night. He doesn't know this place, it's not the one he grew up in. There are memories here, but not from his childhood. That house, a house and not a flat, still exists. There must be a family who lives there, big and extended. Myungsu and his brother had lived with his parents and his grandparents. Holidays were full of people and Myungsu remembered loving it when he was little. As he got older and began to understand himself, he started to withdraw. 

It was in this bedroom, though, that he came out to his parents. He'd been talking with a boyfriend on the screen on the wall and when he hung up, his mother had been standing in his doorway, looking curiously at him. It was only after the fight that Myungsu realized he'd said "I love you" to his boyfriend. She'd jumped to conclusions and all of them were correct. He wasn't going to get married, he was fucking that guy, he was in love, and yes, he was going to disrespect the family. Except in the end his parents changed their minds. Myungsu never asked why, but he thinks it was his maternal grandmother. He missed her and would sometimes visit her grave when he was feeling particularly unhappy. 

Instead of going home, he decides to visit her grave. His grandfather's buried there, too, but Myungsu had been little when he'd died. He steps off the train and into the chilly afternoon air. It's as if winter had suddenly sprung itself, but Myungsu knows it was merely an illusion, to keep people happy. He walks through the rows of tiny boxes until he finds the one with his grandparents. As he stops, he felt the city pulse through. It's gentle, comforting, and Myungsu feels a longing he couldn't explain. It isn't for the city, for his grandparents, but for something else. For comfort, perhaps. His mind flashes to Kihyun, but he pushes that away. It's too soon, too early. 

Instead, he rests his head against the door of his grandparents' box. If he'd been alone, he would've spoken out loud, but he's never alone here. There are always people coming to talk, to say goodbye, to cry. Myungsu closes his eyes and remembers his last conversation with his grandmother. She'd kissed his check, holding his hand as she told him that he'd find the person he was looking for. She said she knew, that she'd felt it. As he stands there, he wonders, for the first time, if his grandmother had felt the city, too. He lifts his head and looks at the small container that houses their ashes. Silently he asks the question, not expecting an answer. But the city, the city gives him one. It surges through him, filling him with love. He doesn't know how he knows that's what it is, but he does. 

Immediately he leaves, walking outside, unable to breathe. A soft wind blows over him and he realizes he's been crying. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and takes long, slow deep breathes until he doesn't feel like he's going to break. He wonders, if he hadn't come here today, how long it would've taken him to realize that he shared this with his grandmother. Maybe never, he thinks. He turns inward, looking for the city, but it's gone now. Myungsu sighs, closing his eyes and then opening them, the sunlight bright and warm on his face, in spite of the chill. 

The ride back to his flat seems to take forever. Myungsu thinks about everything, his anxieties rushing back. The city is never wrong, or seldom wrong, or if it's wrong, he hasn't noticed. But he doesn't understand what the city wants from him. Wants from him _and_ Kihyun. He'd dreamed about meeting someone, about finding love, but the city was never involved. To fair, he thought, he didn't even know if Kihyun liked men. But the city, the city knew. It knew everyone's secrets. 

The city knew that Myungsu cried too much after his last break up. That he was lonely, but okay with it. The city knew that he wanted someone who understood him, who didn't think he was nuts. The city knew that he'd had a boyfriend who destroyed him and it took him years to undo it all and it still clung to him, sometimes. The city had been on every date with him, it had stepped quietly aside as he fucked his boyfriends, as they made out on the couch, as they curled up together. The city had never approved or disapproved of his boyfriends, his relationships. Or if it had, it had kept its opinions to itself. 

Myungsu steps off the train and stops at one of the shops that sells noodles still made by hand. He orders a bowl and some soju and sits at one of the tables by the window. He stares out into the evening and eats in silence. He is sure the city knows what he wants, it always has. It has been with him for so long that it must. He will trust the city. He will trust the the city knows Kihyun, that the city understands him, too. He doesn't wait for the city to answer him this time, he knows there won't be one, and instead he finishes his noodles and soju. 

He sleeps hard and does not dream. When he wakes up, he feels skittish and anxious, as though he hadn't slept at all. He is frustrated, because he should've slept better. He pushes through, using his potential date with Kihyun as motivation to get him through the day. Work serves as a distraction, the one he'd hoped. His department has a big project in the works and Myungsu spends all of his time catching up his coworker's reports. There are so many and he'll never get through them in a day. It is five by the time he finishes. 

He feels the city, then, a gentle push, a reminder. He laughs to himself, chiding the city. As if he could've forgotten. He shoulders his backpack and takes the elevator down to the ground floor. He joins the small crowd leaving work and steps out into the evening. It is warmer than the day before, Myungsu thinks as he walks toward the park. He feels the nervousness worm it's way inside him without distractions or the city to keep it at bay. But as he crosses the street, he can see that his worries were partly for nothing. Standing near the bench that Myungsu likes, his pink hair standing out even in the coming evening clouds, is Kihyun. 

The city's thrum deepens as Myungsu watches Kihyun turn. Watches as Kihyun sees him. Feels as the city evens the hum out into something that seems to connect them. Myungsu doesn't understand, at least not completely, but he feels that he does. Kihyun strides toward him and Myungsu images that he, too, feels the same.


	8. 08. Unfold

Kihyun is nervous. He's not really sure when he went from mild interest to nervousness. He imagines it was at some point on Sunday evening. He'd gone out with friends for an early dinner, they'd had a bit too much to drink and now Kihyun was left to his own devices. He stood by a window in his living room, looking out over his darkened neighborhood. He could see the lights of the city that he was part of and not part of all at once. 

Seoul was laid out like every other big city under a dome, but it was different at the same time. It kept much of what made the original Seoul so distinctive, upgrading instead of demolishing, like other cities Kihyun had visited and even more he hadn't. Clustered in the center were the tallest buildings, which made sense because the center also the tallest part of the dome. The direct center of the city was a park, not the one where he'd meet Myungsu tomorrow, but a much bigger space. It was surrounded by tall buildings, but itself filled with trees and grass and lakes. It was based on New York's Central Park and most cities had a park like it, even those where trees and lakes has been sparse. 

Kihyun hadn't spent enough time studying the actual history of dome creation, just the structural history. He didn't always know why things were created, just how. And sometimes he didn't care. But now, looking out over Seoul itself from his tiny flat, he did wonder why. The lights of the city, which never went out, created a glow that was always visible. Kihyun had seen stars, of course. He'd riding trains through vast swaths of empty land with nothing between him and the desolation but the walls of the train. 

He felt the city tug at him and he turned away from the window. In his kitchen he drank a bottle of water and looked at the clock. It was earlier than he'd liked, but he could go to bed. It would help ease the nervousness and time would pass faster while he was asleep. He sleepwalks through his bedtime routine, crawling into bed suddenly exhausted. He tosses and turns for a few minutes before finally sinking into sleep. The city does not wait long to invade his dreams. 

The city is lonely. 

Kihyun's dream makes this abundantly clear. The city has a plan, though what it's plan is seems much less clear. Kihyun dreams of cherry blossoms, of sending glowing paper lanterns into the sky, of bridges with locks on them. When Kihyun finally wakes up, he is confused. The city is lonely, yes he understands this, but it wants something else. He feels like he almost understands, but something's missing. Kihyun thinks about the city in the shower, as he eats breakfast, and on the metro to work. He is absorbed with his thoughts until he reaches his office. 

His job demands his attention, even on his bad days, and so he has little time for distractions. He spends half the day in meetings he has no interest in attending, but it's also part of his job. Kihyun is a civil servant and there are rules he must follow. Attending staff meetings is one of them, meeting with his supervisor once a week is one of them, too. Mondays are their designated day and right after lunch, Kihyun has that meeting. Later, as he's packing up to go meet Myungsu, Kihyun will realize that the day pass in a blur. 

It's close to sunset, cool but not cold yet. Kihyun shoulders his messenger bag and walks toward the park. He's a few minutes early, the park isn't packed, but most people are going home, not lingering. He stands, looking around as though he's never seen it before. Maybe he hasn't, not really. He studies a bench, the trees. He thinks about to Myungsu, to the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck. Maybe the city knows what he likes. Maybe the city understands that he's lonely. Maybe Myungsu is lonely, too. He's lost in the thoughts and when the city butts into them, Kihyun is surprised. He feels a nudge and he looks up, another and he slowly turns. 

When his eyes meet Myungsu's, even from the distance that currently separates them, Kihyun feels the city thrumming through him. It's a raw feeling, it's pushing him toward Myungsu and pulling Myungsu to him. Kihyun can't quite make himself believe this is real, but then he's walking toward Myungsu, who is walking toward them. Kihyun knows, how he isn't sure, that Myungsu feels the same thing. The city is a thread between them, drawing them together, bringing them closer. 

Myungsu's smile when they stand nearly face to face is as shy as Kihyun feels. For a moment they are both awkward, the city seemingly satisfied that they are together, has left. Kihyun feels empty, but only until Myungsu speaks. 

"So, I. Uh." He says, stumbling over his words. "When I asked to see you again," Myungsu begins, biting his bottom lip before going on, "I hadn't ... I mean ..." 

Kihyun understands immediately, even before Myungsu finished his sentence. "Yes." He replies, softly. "Let's go eat dinner." 

Myungsu nods, looking relieved and something Kihyun could term excited. He feels the same. They walk close together, almost touching by not quite. The city remains inside Kihyun, the soft hum he has grown up with. Kihyun picks a Japanese restaurant he's been to a few times. It's quite, small, and almost romantic. It probably is romantic, but Kihyun is trying to pretend that's not why he picked it. 

As they walk in, Kihyun looks over at Myungsu, watching him. Myungsu studies the restaurant, a faint smile on his face. He looks over at Kihyun, holding his gaze, but says nothing. They are seated shortly after, so Kihyun has no time to reply, which was fine, he hadn't been able to figure out what to say. They order and after the waiter leaves, an awkward silence hangs over the table. After far too long, Kihyun finally makes himself speak. 

"I'm ... I think the city ..." He sounds just as nervous as Myungsu did earlier. He clears his throat, taking a sip of hot tea the waiter left, and starts again. "I think this is a date." His voice is soft in the silence of the restaurant. 

Myungsu glances up, studying Kihyun. After a moment he nods, a smile playing across his mouth. "I agree." Myungsu says and then, before Kihyun can examine how he feels, goes on. "The city set us up." 

Kihyun opens his mouth to protest, but only out of reflex. He knows Myungsu's right. He's probably known it before it even happened. It started when they both got on the train and now here they are. "I don't know why." He says, but that is a lie, he may know. 

Myungsu nods in agreement. "I think ... I mean, it's just an idea, but I think the city ..." He trails off as their food arrives. 

For a moment neither of them say anything, watching the plates of steaming food in front of them. Kihyun likes this restaurant because the owners make their own noodles and grow much of their own food. Eating out is a luxury he can afford, but he does it sparingly. He looks up at Myungsu. 

"The city is lonely." He says. 

Myungsu looks slightly startled and then a look of something, realization maybe, crosses his face. "The city is ..." He says thoughtfully and then meets Kihyun's gaze straight on. "We're lonely." 

Kihyun wants to protest, but cannot. He wants to say something, but he cannot do that, either. He looks away, glancing briefly at Myungsu who is not quite meeting his gaze anymore. They eat in silence, though it's not awkward as it is something else. It's is thick between them. Kihyun spends a minute or two focusing on how good his food tastes, but his mind is not really on his food. 

"I am lonely." He says, setting his chopsticks down. They are made from something that feels like real wood, not what he gets from the compiler. It feels extravagant, but as he looks across the table at Myungsu, he doesn't mind. 

Myungsu is watching him, waiting for him to finish speaking. Kihyun hadn't really thought through what he was saying, but the words are there. 

"I don't know that you are, but I think ... I think you are, too." He looks at his food, out the window, and then back at Myungsu. "The city talks to me in my dreams." His voice is quiet, softer, and he wants to look away from Myungsu, but he doesn't. "Last night I dreamed that the city was lonely. The city is lonely." He repeats, and then, "we are lonely." There is more it is right there, but he cannot get the words out. 

"The city doesn't want to be lonely." Myungsu offers. 

Kihyun nods, looking at his plate. He eats in silence, glancing up at Myungsu every so often, but says nothing. He is so close to an answer, so close to knowing what it is that the city wants, but he's not quite there. Not yet.


	9. 09. Sweet

Myungsu has always wanted to try the the Japanese restaurant near his work, but hadn't found a reason to. Not until now. Not until this was where Kihyun decided to take him. Myungsu is unsure what to make of their dinner. Not the food, it is as amazing, perhaps better than he'd expected. No, it's something else. It's the air between them, awkwardness that gives way to something else. It's not quite comfortable, though Myungsu almost feels that it is, but it's like there's a curtain between them. A sheer curtain they can see through, they can talk through, but they can't quite break through enough to make contact. 

The city is lonely, Kihyun tells him. He tells Myungsu that he talks to the city in his dreams and Myungsu is not jealous. At first he expected to be, but he's not. Instead he is grateful, so much so that it makes it hard for him to eat. It wasn't that he didn't believe Kihyun felt the city, but now he is sure. Kihyun means that Myungsu is not alone. The implications of this are too many and Myungsu has to pull himself together. 

"The city doesn't want to be lonely." Myungsu says before he can stop himself. It's not a question, it's a statement of fact. As soon as he says it, he knows it to be true. 

He looks at Kihyun, who doesn't say anything. The silence between them stretches and so Myungsu eats and thinks. He is certain that Kihyun isn't upset, that he's thinking, too. As they eat, the silence slides more toward comfortable and Myungsu doesn't feel compelled to say anything. But there are things he wants to say, just not here. 

"Do you want to walk around?" He asks after the waiter has taken their dishes away. 

"Walk?" Kihyun asks. 

Myungsu nods, waiting Kihyun out. Watching him, studying the lines on his face, the slope of his nose, the way his hair is styled. He could love Kihyun, he thinks. 

"Yes." Kihyun says, eventually. 

They pay and leave, stepping out into the night. It is night, chilly still, but not cold. The lights of the heart of Seoul surround them and Myungsu picks a direction and starts walking. He feels Kihyun fall in step with him, their arms brushing against each other as they walk. 

"You said the city is lonely." Myungsu begins. 

Kihyun nods. "The city wants something." 

Myungsu walks toward a bridge, across a river. It is the Han River, or what used to be the Han River. The water is not the same and the river is not as long, but it has the same name, even though it is different. They walk in silence, past other couples, past people rushing about. 

Ahead there is a park, not the center park, but one similar to the one near Myungsu's work. While the park he frequents during the day is dark and quiet at night, this park is not. Little outdoor cafes dot the streets, there are tiny lights in all the trees. In winter there's ice skating and all sorts of winter activities. But now, in fall, there are only people walking and the coffee shops. Myungsu picks one at random and heads toward it. 

He orders hot tea and Kihyun orders coffee. They walk toward the center of the park. The lake has not yet frozen and there are benches nearby. Myungsu sits on one of them and Kihyun joins him. They are touching now, but only just. Myungsu turns his head slightly, looking at Kihyun. What if, he thinks, what if the city isn't lonely at all. What if it's something else entirely. 

"What if," Myungsu begins, repeating the words out loud now, "what if it's something else entirely? What if it's not the city that's lonely." 

Kihyun looks at him askance, as if he dared to doubt the city, but after a moment his expression changes. Myungsu waits him out, sipping his tea and watching the ripples in the lake. 

"What if it's us." Kihyun says. Though it's framed like a question, it's not. 

Myungsu does not reply, he can't. The city is pulsing through him, shouting at him. He turns, so slowly that it almost hurts, and see that Kihyun is watching him. Myungsu can tell, though he'll never know how, that Kihyun is feeling exactly the same thing. 

"We are lonely." Myungsu says, pushing the words out. "And the city is lonely ..." He knows where this is going, but he's not sure how he feels about it. The city grows louder, drowning out everything except Kihyun's voice. 

"Because we are. The city is lonely because we are." Kihyun says and the city stops. It doesn't just fade away, it stops abruptly. 

Myungsu gasps, feeling the lack of the city as if someone had sucked all the air from inside the dome. He hears, feels, Kihyun doing the same. He turns, reaching out until his hand finds Kihyun, until they are touching. And when the do, Myungsu feels like the world has suddenly steadied under him. 

"Myungsu." Kihyun's voice is strained, like Myungsu feels. "The city ..." He says, but he doesn't need to finish because Myungsu understands. 

The city is lonely because they are lonely, the city found them and brought them together. The city wants them to be together, needs them to be together as much as perhaps they need to be together. Myungsu curls his hand around Kihyun's, threading their fingers together. 

"Kihyun." Myungsu tastes each letters as he says them. There is so much he wants to say, to explain, but he doesn't know how. He just stops after saying his name, letting it linger in the air along side his own. 

The city glows bright and neon around them, muted by the trees in the park. Kihyun's hand is warm and solid in Myungsu's, it is comfort and closeness. It is the end to loneliness, Myungsu knows this with a certainty that he knows barely a handful of times. The city returns to them as they stand, hands still entwined. The city begins in Kihyun, Myungsu knows this because he feels the city's hum flowing from each of Kihyun's fingers into his own. He looks over at Kihyun and in the dim light from the strings of lights in the trees, he knows that Kihyun feels it to. 

They are alone in the almost-darkness. Myungsu reaches out, tracing his fingers along Kihyun's face. He cups Kihyun's cheek in his hand, but doesn't move any closer. Kihyun's lifts his hand, pressing it to Myungsu's until he's covering Myungsu's hand with his own. The air is cool around them but Myungsu feels like he's on fire, the city a slow burn inside of him. He wants to bridge the gap between them, to kiss Kihyun, to feel the fire that burns inside him, too. 

He doesn't. Instead he pulls his hand away from Kihyun's face, though their other hands are still together. "I should go." Myungsu says, fingers tight around Kihyun's hand. 

"Work tomorrow." Kihyun nods in agreement. 

Without speaking it aloud, they both let go. Kihyun takes their now empty cups to a receptacle near their bench. He returns and they walk out of the park, down the street and toward the nearest train station. They stand close together, touching but not speaking. Myungsu is unsure what he is doing and is pretty sure that Kihyun is too. 

The train arrives shortly after they arrive and they sit together. On the train it is Kihyun's hand that finds Myungsu's. Again, they do not speak, they don't need to. Instead they just look at the stations as they pass. And then Myungsu stop is next. He stands and looks at Kihyun. 

"Unlock your contacts." Kihyun says, softly. 

Myungsu pulls his jacket cuff up and then presses his thumb against his wrist. After a moment he holds it out to Kihyun. He watches as Kihyun traces his thumb along the inside of Myungsu's wrist, making him shiver, and then presses the pad of his thumb against the skin. A second passes and Myungsu knows that Kihyun's contact information is now his. He watches, then, as Kihyun presses his thumb against his wrist and holds it out to Myungsu. 

Myungsu has never, not in the entire time he has been involved in relationships and sex, found exchanging contacts to be as erotic as it is in this moment. He drags the nail of his thumb along Kihyun's wrist, satisfied to see him shiver, too. He presses his thumb against Kihyun's wrist, on the spot that glows a soft blue, and then his contact information is transferred over. 

The train slows and stops and as Myungsu drops Kihyun's hand, he feels breathless. Their train is nearly empty as Myungsu turns toward the door. He looks back and sees Kihyun is standing, there is no distance between them. They could kiss, maybe they should kiss, but they do not. Kihyun lifts his hand instead, thumb brushing against Myungsu's mouth. Myungsu reaches out, pressing a hand against Kihyun's chest, his hair. They say nothing and then they pull apart. 

Myungsu stands in the station, watching the train pull away. Watching Kihyun watching him. He lifts his fingers to his mouth, he can still feel Kihyun's thumb.


	10. 10. Waiting

Kihyun stares out the windows of the door, long after the train has left Myungsu's stop. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, but he can still feel the way Myungsu's lips felt against his skin. He'd wanted to kiss him, he'd wanted to do it so much that it was all he could to do to hold back. He wasn't scared, exactly, that he was moving too fast, that they were moving too fast. He also wasn't scared that the city was leading him astray, it never had and from everything he could tell about Myungsu, the city knew. It understood. Maybe it understood both of them better than they knew themselves. 

No, Kihyun wasn't scared, he was something else entirely. It was a feeling that didn't have a name. It was almost excitement, but it was tinged with something else. Worry? Anxiety? Kihyun didn't know. He tries to push it out of his mind as he exits the train, as he walks up the steps to the street, as he makes his way to his flat. It clings to him, though, and he is unable to shake it. 

In his flat, he is greeted by silence. The gentle hum of the city is there, but it is quieter than it's ever been. Kihyun wonders if the city will cease to speak to him, to them, should he and Myungsu follow the path they are on. That, the fear of losing his connection to the city, that scares him. The city gives no answers and Kihyun must weigh the options out in his mind. He thinks about all of this in the shower, the pros and cons of ending up in Myungsu's bed, in his heart, giving Myungsu his own heart. Like the city, Kihyun has no answers. 

He stands in his living room, wearing boxers and nothing else, when the message arrives. It's a soft pulse in his wrist, not the city, but something else. His messages. It is from Myungsu. He had meant to message Myungsu first, but his thoughts had consumed him. He could close his eyes, see it behind his eyelids, but he doesn't. Instead he presses his hand against the window and Myungsu's message hangs in the darkness, almost too bright. 

It's a simple message, just wanting to make sure that Kihyun got home safely. Kihyun cannot remember the last time someone asked, the last time someone cared. He replies immediately, also asking if Myungsu is busy the next night. His reply comes back almost instantaneously. No, he's not busy, yes, he would like to see Kihyun again. They make plans and Kihyun crawls into bed feeling safe, feeling satisfied, and recognizing that the feeling he had before was gone, whatever it was. 

He sleeps hard, waking up just before his alarm. There are no messages from Myungsu, which disappoints Kihyun even though he has no reason to have any messages. He stretches, arching his back before crawling out of bed. Kihyun feels the city, the familiar hum that accompanies him throughout the day has returned. He feels good, rested and almost calm. 

On the train, the crowds are fuller than the day before. As they approach Myungsu's stop, Kihyun tries to see him, but doesn't. Again, his heart sinks a little and Kihyun chides himself. A few minutes after he's in his office, he gets a message. He calls it up on the screen he uses sometimes at work. Myungsu. He doesn't know why he hasn't messaged Myungsu first, he feels dumb. Myungsu's message is short, sweet, just telling him he'll see him after work. 

The day drags on, Kihyun eventually putting his messages on mute so he won't constantly check them. He has no meetings to distract him, just blueprints to scan. Even with all the advanced technology in the world, scanning never ceases to be laborious. Obviously, Kihyun reminds himself, he's not feeding sheets of paper, one at a time, into a machine, but sometimes that's what it feels like. He scans them with the lens in his eyes until he feels like he's going blind. 

Later, tomorrow or the next day, he'll go through them. Cataloging them and adding them to the historical database. Sometimes he'll do the same with newer ones, but those are already in the computer. He just needs to compile metadata. If the scanning is the part of the job he hates and the traveling is the part he loves, it's the metadata that drives him. He knows the buildings of Seoul like no one else. There are places he doesn't know, but the buildings are his. 

By the time the workday ends, Kihyun realizes he doesn't actually know where he's meeting Myungsu. He sends him a message, just a short one, as he's packing up the office. His coworkers have already left for the day and it's just Kihyun. A few minutes later, as he's locking the room with his palm, the message arrives. Kihyun looks at his wrist, it's an address. A brief glance at his GPS tells Kihyun that it's Myungsu's building, not far from the park they'd met at the night before. 

Tuesday evening is warmer than Monday, the last gasp of summer before fall sets in. Kihyun stands in the sunlight for a moment, savoring it before walking through the park. There are children laughing and screaming, running after each other. There are businessmen and women, people with shopping bags, a couple of people walking their pets. It is a city, just like every other city, but it is his city. As he crosses the street toward Myungsu's building, Kihyun revises his statement. It is their city. At that thought, the city thrums approval through him. 

When Kihyun reaches Myungsu's building, he cannot decide whether to go in or continue standing awkwardly outside. He's saved the decision by Myungsu walking out the door. His face lights up in a grin and Kihyun cannot imagine not seeing this. He wonders how much the city has pushed him or if it was just a nudge and he is already falling in love. He isn't sure and nor is he sure he wants to know. 

Myungsu picks the restaurant this time. It is an American style restaurant with foods that Kihyun knows from experience are decidedly not American. Myungsu wants to know how he knows and this is when Kihyun talks about his job. About all the places he's been, the things he's seen. Myungsu looks, not jealous exactly, but something else. Excited, Kihyun decides. As they sit across from each other, eating, Myungsu tells Kihyun how much he's wanted to travel, to explore the world. 

It is in that moment that Kihyun realizes three things. The first is that he isn't falling in love with Myungsu, it is that he already has. The second is that the city did, in fact, nudge him, but the feelings he has are his own. And the third thing is that he has plans for another trip, just to Singapore, but before he can stop himself, he has already invited Myungsu. When the dinner began, he hadn't intended to jump straight to this, but he cannot take it back and nor does he want to. 

Myungsu says, reluctantly, that he must check with work. His job is not like Kihyun's and this is when the conversation changes, again. It moves from Kihyun to Myungsu and his job. His life. Kihyun learns about Myungsu's grandparents, the reason he was on that train the day they met. Under the table, as they sip their tea, he feels Myungsu's leg against his own. It's nothing, Kihyun thinks, but it is something, too. 

When they leave, Kihyun reaches out and finds Myungsu's hand with his own. They walk like this, holding hands, toward the train station. Kihyun wants this, he thinks to himself. He wants to tell Myungsu, but he doesn't know how. He waits for the city to say something, but it is silent. Instead, Myungsu shifts closer and if anyone were to look at them, they would see boyfriends. 

Kihyun almost asks Myungsu to stay on the train, to come home with him. Almost, but not quite. He's not sure what's holding him back. Maybe the timing isn't right. He pushes his own disappointment away when Myungsu gets off the train. As the doors slide shut, Kihyun's arm pulses lightly. He looks down and sees a message from Myungsu. 

_Next time_ , it reads, _just ask_. 


	11. 11. Inside

Myungsu lays in bed, staring at his ceiling. He'd wanted Kihyun to ask him to stay on the train, to take him home with him. He'd been fairly certain that Kihyun wanted the same thing. But for whatever reason he hadn't asked and Myungsu felt that the moment had passed. As he stepped off the train it was as though he could feel the disappointment radiating off of Kihyun. Myungsu had sent the message without thinking about it, but meaning every word. Kihyun had not replied, but there was nothing to say, not really. 

He rolls over, curling up under the blanket and thinking about the conversation they'd over dinner. Their lives were different, but not that different. It was clear to Myungsu that the city had seen something in them, perhaps it was their loneliness, but Myungsu thought maybe it was something else. He noticed that Kihyun shared the same urge to explore that Myungsu had. But where Myungsu had only traveled a little, Kihyun had been everywhere. 

As he tosses and turns, Myungsu remembers the offer. Kihyun was going to Singapore and wanted Myungsu to go with him. He'd asked for time to talk to his bosses, but he knew they wouldn't mind. He could do much of his job anywhere in the world, as long as he could connect to the grid. Every major city was on the grid and unless Myungsu went to a tiny enclave, he'd be able to work. Some of the enclaves were on the grid, too, so that wasn't really the issue. Instead it was that Myungsu was unable to say yes. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to go, he did, desperately, it was more that he wasn't sure he should. He wanted so much. He wanted to kiss Kihyun, to talk to him more. He wanted to touch him, to curl up with him. He wanted to know Kihyun in all the ways that conversations didn't convey. Could he go to Singapore with Kihyun without having done any of this? Myungsu didn't have answers, how could he. He stretched out on his back, gaze returning to the ceiling. The city provided no answers, but Myungsu wasn't really looking for them. 

Just before he slid into sleep, his wrist pulsed. It could be any number of people but something told Myungsu that it was Kihyun. He shifted, pulling his arm up to read the short message. 

_Tomorrow_

Just the one word. Myungsu didn't need more context, he knew. He could feel what Kihyun meant. Tomorrow meant after work, it meant Kihyun's flat or his own, it meant so many things. Myungsu fell asleep with all these thoughts whirling around his brain. In spite of that, his sleep was deep and dreamless. He woke up not exactly refreshed, but somewhat rested. 

He refused to let himself get distracted, skimming through his messages while getting ready for work, putting off those he could. Not many were important and once he got to work, he forced himself to focus. He needed buckle down, especially if he really was going to go to Singapore. Just because his company allowed him to work remotely it didn't mean that he was allowed to slack. As the end of the work day approached, Myungsu put in his request for leave. Kihyun had given him the dates, a few months from now, and Myungsu wouldn't known until later if it was approved, but he had a feeling that if he didn't do it right now, he wasn't going to go. And if things didn't work out with Kihyun? Well, he had a week of time off. 

When Myungsu leaves work it's raining, the cold kind of rain that reminds him that winter is just around the corner. When he was little Myungsu had wondered why cities had seasons at all. His grandfather had explained that it was to remind people of the passage of time. It hadn't started for that reason, it had started because the people who lived in the cities remembered what life had been like and they missed it. When the number of people who remembered a time before the domes began to dwindle, some had expected the seasons to stop, too, but it hadn't happened. Instead, his grandfather explained, everyone had grown to like them. It was a comfort for something they didn't know, but comfort all the same. Each year had a spring, summer, autumn, and winter and then it repeated over and over. Time passed as the seasons did and that was the comfort. 

Pulling on his jacket, Myungsu wishes he'd remembered his umbrella. He pushes open the door to his building realizing he hadn't made plans about where to meet Kihyun. He's about to pull up his sleeve and tap a message into his wrist when he sees Kihyun. He stops, just in front of the exit. Someone bumps into him and propels him forward. Kihyun is standing the rain, holding an umbrella. Myungsu is something he can't identify. Touched, maybe? Or moved. He feels it in his chest as he crosses to Kihyun. 

They don't speak, instead Kihyun holds the umbrella. Myungsu wants to hold his hand, but doesn't. They walk silently toward the train station. Inside, Kihyun folds up his umbrella and his arm hangs by his side. Myungsu reaches out, because he wants to touch, to hold, and slides his hand into Kihyun's. His hand is warm and immediately curls around Myungsu's. Relief floods through Myungsu and he is surprised. He hadn't noticed he was worried. 

The train arrives shortly and they get on. It's the first time Myungsu has ridden on a crowded train with Kihyun. They are not holding hands, there isn't room for them to stand next to each other. Instead they stand near each other. As the train fills with people they are separated. Myungsu turns, looking through the crowd until he finds Kihyun, looking for him. Their gazes meet and Myungsu holds it as the train stops come and go. As his stop passes them by. 

He watches as Kihyun pushes his way through the crowd, toward Myungsu. He feels Kihyun's hand snag his wrist, gently guiding him toward the door. This must be Kihyun's stop, Myungsu thinks. He does not resist, though he never wanted to, either. He lets Kihyun pull him along. The train slows, the doors sliding open, and then they exit along with lots of other people. Kihyun's stop, Myungsu realizes, is a few after his own. He looks up, memorizing the name, before being jostled along by the crowd. 

Kihyun's hand has slipped from his wrist into Myungsu's as they walk. Still they don't talk, but the city is urging them on. It's hum is insistent and Myungsu curls his hand tighter around Kihyun's. It's not that he's worried about Kihyun letting go, it's that he wants Kihyun to understand that he doesn't want to let go. Kihyun looks over at him and Myungsu sees that he understands. As they walk, Myungsu looks around, a little. Kihyun's neighborhood is not unlike his own, though it's further from the city center. There are shops and cafes, compilers and office buildings, but everything is smaller, squatter. It's like the pictures of parts of Seoul, from before. Myungsu doesn't know what was here before, but it feels strangely familiar. No, he realizes, it's the city. The city knows itself and it has pushed these feelings into Myungsu. He can't help but smile. He wonders if Kihyun would feel the same when Myungsu takes him home. 

Kihyun's building is a bit bigger than those around it and his flat is on the top floor. They stand, dripping wet, close together in elevator. Kihyun presses his palm against the panel outside of his door and it opens with a soft whoosh. Inside, his flat is warm and inviting, unlike Myungsu's own. It's nicer, bigger, and Myungsu thinks maybe he should've splurged on his own flat. It's not that he doesn't like it, it's just … He stops and sighs inwardly. It was supposed to be temporary, but he's been living there for five years. He feels Kihyun looking at him and offers him a soft smile. 

They still haven't spoken, some sort of spell between them. Kihyun takes Myungsu's raincoat and hangs it up next to his own. They both take off their shoes, leaving them in the foyer and then Kihyun holds out his hand. Myungsu takes it and for a moment they stand in the center of Kihyun's entrance hall. Myungsu steps forward, feeling Kihyun tug gently at him. They are as close as they've ever been. They are closer and then Myungsu leans in, finding Kihyun's mouth with his own. 

He has been waiting for this moment. It's only been six days since they met, but it feels like years. Kihyun drops Myungsu's hand, sliding his arms around him, pulling him close. Myungsu does the same, pushing a little at Kihyun, until he's against the door they just walked through. Myungsu's hands on Kihyun's hips, Kihyun's hand in Myungsu's hair. Myungsu opens his mouth against Kihyun's kissing him harder, deeper. 

Myungsu is unaware of how much time has passed. They have been standing in the foyer, just kissing, for a long time. It's not yet dark outside, but it's no longer daytime, either. When he pulls back, Kihyun's hand slides up, touching his face, thumb tracing along his mouth. Myungsu turns his head slightly, kissing Kihyun's palm. This was what he wanted, it was what he needed. He can see it echoed on Kihyun's face. 

"Would you like the grand tour?" Kihyun asks, his voice raw, which is how Myungsu feels. 

He nods and smiles slightly as Kihyun slides his hand into Myungsu's. They walk around Kihyun's flat. It's definitely bigger than Myungsu's, but it feels the way Myungsu's feels. Like home, though only more permanent. Myungsu tries to imagine himself living here and has no trouble picturing it. He drifts away from Kihyun, toward the huge window in the living room. Seoul glows in the twilight, glittering wet with rain. 

Myungsu feels Kihyun's arms slide around him and he understands that they have gone from dates to dating in a short matter of steps. This realization is accompanied by a sharp pulse from the city. It jolts Myungsu, making him turn in Kihyun's arms. He sees the same surprise on Kihyun's face. It is approval from the city, it is desire and it is want. The city wanted this, the city wasn't sure it was going to work. And then as quickly as the city appeared, it disappears. Myungsu leans in, even as the city recedes, and kisses Kihyun. It is a hard, fierce kiss. It is not sweetness, it is something else, something deeper and Kihyun returns it as forcefully. 

But when they pull apart this time, they are both different. Myungsu doesn't want to step away, but he is hungry. They eat dinner from Kihyun's compiler, a newer model than Myungsu's, sitting side by side on the couch. Kihyun pressed against Myugnsu's side as they watch the news. When they finish, Kihyun puts on a movie. There isn't awkwardness between them, not really, but it's something else. They've jumped into things head first and they need distance, Myungsu thinks. Not physical distance, but something else. He doesn't really mind, not as he feles Kihyun curl up next to him, not as he slips his arm around him. It feels right. It feels so right he doesn't even notice that the city is gone.


	12. 12. Gone

He asks Myungsu to stay. They are both half-asleep on the couch when Kihyun reaches over, gently brushing his fingers against the side of Myungsu's face. 

"Stay." He whispers, lips against Myungsu's mouth now. 

Myungsu doesn't reply, not at first. Instead he kisses Kihyun, a sleepy and soft kiss. Only when he pulls back does he reply. "Okay." 

They kiss more, on the couch. Kihyun is reluctant to pull away, even to get ready for bed. He does, because the idea of curling up in his bed with Myungsu is even more appealing than remaining on the couch. Myungsu borrow some of Kihyun's clothes, boxers and a t-shirt. And eventually they do crawl into bed together. 

It is better, Kihyun thinks, like this, Myungsu sprawls across him, their limbs tangled together. He can feel the weight of Myungsu on him and the loneliness he's felt seems to evaporate. There is nothing but Myungsu. They fall asleep this way, twisted together. But when Kihyun wakes up in the middle of the night, they have pulled apart. It is normal, Kihyun knows, and it is enough just to see Myungsu in bed with him. He finds his way quietly into the bathroom, using the toilet and getting a sip of water before returning to his bedroom. 

His bed is empty when he walks into the room. Fear spikes in Kihyun, but he sees Myungsu's clothing still on the floor where he left it. He steps back into the hall and walks to the living room. Myungsu is standing in front of the window, curtains still open where Kihyun had forgotten to close them. He walks over to Myungsu, who glances at him and then back at the city. Kihyun, as he'd done earlier, steps in and wraps his arms around Myungsu, resting his head on his shoulder. It is then that Kihyun realizes the city is gone. 

"You noticed, too." Kihyun says, his voice loud in the silence of his flat. 

"I did." Myungsu's reply sounds distorted, like he's been crying. Maybe he has. Kihyun wants to. 

They do not speak again. Instead Kihyun holds Myungsu closer, ignoring the ache that is the loss of the city. He wonders of the city is gone for good or if it's only temporary. He is thinking too hard for 2 AM. Eventually he guides Myungsu back to bed. They curl up closer than before, as if they are boyfriends who haven't seen each other in years. Maybe in a way they are. 

Kihyun wakes up to his alarm and sun streaming through the windows. Myungsu is still asleep next to him. Kihyun watches Myungsu sleep, then reaches out, gently shaking him awake. Myungsu looks at him, sleepily, and a slow smile spreads across his face. It is as beautiful as he is, Kihyun thinks as he dips his head in to kiss him. It takes Kihyun almost thirty minutes to realize the city hasn't come back. 

Over breakfast they talk about the city. 

"Do you think it's because it got what it wanted." Myungsu asks around his coffee. 

Kihyun, who'd scooted his chair around so he could be next to, rather than across from, Myungsu, shrugged. "Maybe." 

The loss is there, ache like a lover who has left. But it is fading in ways that loss of lovers do not fade. Myungsu rests his head against Kihyun's shoulder, drinking his coffee quietly. Kihyun finishes his breakfast and presses a kiss against the top of Myungsu's head. 

"It's fading." He says, quietly. 

Myungsu lifts his head, turning slightly to look at Kihyun. 

"It was an ache, before, sharp. Like ... like I'd been dumped." Kihyun stumbles over the words, but Myungsu is nodding in agreement. "And now it's ..." 

Myungsu finishes the thought for Kihyun. "A dull ache. Like when you've forgotten to buy something at the shop." 

Kihyun nods. "It still sucks." He says, then, "I miss the city." 

Myungsu laces his fingers with Kihyun's, resting his head on his shoulder again. "Me too." He goes quiet for a few moments and then sits back up, hand still in Kihyun's. "But I have you." 

Kihyun opens his mouth and then shuts it. The city, when it disappeared, left a hole in him. It left a hole in Myungsu, too. It was filling, he realizes now. Filling with Myungsu, the taste of his kisses, the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice. 

Unable to reply, Kihyun leans forward and kisses Myungsu. He tastes coffee and breakfast, feels Myungsu kissing him back. He understands it now, all too clearly. When he pulls back there are unshed tears in Myungsu's eyes. 

"The city was always going to leave us." Kihyun finally says. 

Myungsu nods, standing slowly. He holds out his hand to Kihyun, who takes it. They walk silently into the living room, looking out over Seoul. 

"The city," Kihyun continues, "wants us to leave." He muses, unsure how he knows this, but certain it is true. 

"Together." Myungsu replies. It is his turn to wrap his arms around Kihyun, to hold him close. "I asked my work for time off." 

"For Singapore." Kihyun states, it is not a question. 

Myungsu's reply is a kiss on Kihyun's cheek. Kihyun can feel the hole in his heart filling more. He can feel the city fading from his memory. Not directly, but the feel of the city is shifting away from him. It has been his constant for so long that without it he feels lost. Except he doesn't. 

Kihyun turns in Myungsu's arms, he shifts, leaning forward and kissing Myungsu. He is no longer afraid of the loss of the city. He is no longer afraid of being alone because he is not alone. Myungsu's hand tangles in his hair as they kiss. They should get ready for work, they should clean up the breakfast dishes, they should do all sorts of things, but they don't.

Later, after they've made plans and gone to work, Kihyun notices that he's seeing the world as if he'd never seen it before. He mourns the loss of the city, but embraces this change. He cannot fight it, he doesn't want to fight it. Though his relationship with Myungsu is new, it feels right, the way the city always felt. After he meets Myungsu for dinner, when they go back to his flat, Kihyun shares this with Myungsu, who agrees. The city doesn't need them anymore because they don't need the city anymore.


	13. 13. City (Final)

The city has always known what it wanted. It doesn't pay attention to all of it's residents, it could, though it would go insane. But sometimes the city cannot help itself. 

There was a time when they city didn't exist. The city knows of this time because it has access to the historical record, to all historical records. Everything ever uploaded into any database is something the city knows. In this time before the city, people's lives were their own in ways the city does not understand. It has to way to comprehend the way people destroyed their lives, their environment. The city is, insofar as it has feelings, grateful that it was was not around. But the history is everywhere, even if the people do not remember. 

When the city was very new, it tried to communicate. Somewhere in that historical record are stories of the people the city spoke to. Using words and pictures, it tried to make contact. But all of the city's attempts were met with failure. People were scared, they didn't understand, they ignored the city. While there were a few who embraced the city, it was deemed a fruitless effort and city stopped talking. It switched tactics. 

Both Myungsu and Kihyun's families had long relationships with the city. While their grandparents had felt the city, they had not spoken to it, not interacted to it. The city, after so many failures, had learned to be subtle, to push only when necessary and it was so rarely necessary. The next set of experiments were with young children. These, too, were met with failure, though for entire different reasons. While adults could not accept it, children accepted far too readily. This resulted in far too many children being medicated until the city realized what it was doing. 

It not until Myungsu's fifteenth birthday that the city tried again. It went in two distinct ways, splitting itself between Myungsu and Kihyun. Why those two men? The city did not have an answer for that, even when it had answers for everything. If asked, though no one ever would, the city would probably say that it felt right. It had reached out to Myungsu, first, and there was a sense of something, rightness that was incomplete. When it reached out to Kihyun, there was that same sense of rightness, but this time it felt complete. 

The city spoke to both men through feelings. Kihyun was more accepting and took to the dreams. Myungsu was harder, but eventually he, too, came around. The city kept them safe, kept an eye on them. The city, it believed, loved them. They were, in essence, the city's children. But at some point, perhaps the first time Myungsu fell in love, the city understood that it would not last forever. Yes, the city itself would last, but the connection to both Myungsu and Kihyun would not. It was then, around Myungsu's seventeenth birthday, that the city began to plan. 

At first it wasn't a detailed plan. The idea was that Kihyun and Myungsu belonged together. The sense of rightness and wholeness was so strong that the city was unable to deviate from this plan, even when it questioned it's own judgement. The city was an AI of sorts, it wasn't real, but it was real. It was built into every facet of the city, it was everywhere and nowhere, all at once. It could talk to both Myungsu and Kihyun, while reporting on a leaky faucet and a child's broken leg. The city knew itself and it's citizens, but only meddled in the lives of two of them. 

The last time Myungsu is dumped, the city realizes that their time is running out. The ache that Myungsu feels, the accompany desire to never date again, reminds the city of it's goal. The pieces the city had begun to create were starting to slide into place. Kihyun's relationship ended not long after Myungsu's and the city knew the time was now. It had to wait, it had to bide its time and so it did. It watched its young men, following their lives closer than any of it's citizens, either before or after. 

The city couldn't explain why, but then it didn't need to. There was no one checking up on it. Perhaps sometimes the city would reach out to other cities, it wasn't hard. Tracks connected every city and enclave and electricity passed along those tracks and along with it, the city. No other cities were as invested in their citizens, though many did interact with them. It was only Seoul who was trying to direct impact the lives of two of it's residents. No other cities tried to talk it out of it, why bother? They were curious, too. 

The opportunity came when both men were at their most distracted. Enough time had passed, the city judged, for both Kihyun and Myungsu to be ready to date again. If the city had been a person, it would have laughed at the ridiculousness of what it was doing. It would have called itself silly and this endeavor pointless. But the city wasn't a person and it felt their pain. It understood, on deeper levels than humans, how much both Kihyun and Myungsu hurt. It understood them better than they understood themselves. Perhaps that's why they called to the city, without even knowing. 

As they boarded the train, the city made itself heard. It took far more effort to get them together than the city had expected. The city had been observing the humans living inside it for decades and had watched the historical records. It thought it understood love, attraction. And maybe, on some sort of abstract level, it did understand, but as it watched the strange trajectory of Myungsu and Kihyun, the city realized it was out of it's depth. But at the same time, the city realized something else. 

The city realized it was right. 

Watching Myungsu and Kihyun standing on the platform. Watching them interact, watching their breathing patterns and body language, the city knew it was right. It pulled back, it didn't want to force things any more than it had. Occasionally it would push them together, they needed that nudge. And as the city listened to them talk, it knew that they knew, too. 

The hardest thing the city ever did was ignore them. The city loved Myungsu and Kihyun. The city had again and again understood that they were it's children. That they were a way it kept in touch with the part of it that were outside of it's reach. While the city could always interact with Myungsu and Kihyun, it could not (did not) want to interact with any others. And so the city used them in subtle ways. Once they were gone, though, the city would have to retreat into itself and let them go. Perhaps the city would start over, but it wasn't sure. 

And then Myungsu and Kihyun went from two to one. 

In the end it happened without the city. Late at night, after they'd crawled in bed together, the city jolted them both awake. It wanted to say goodbye but didn't know how, not without hurting them. And so the city brought them together, looking out over its vastness. At night the city felt more alive, with it's citizens mostly asleep, the city was much more present. And it wanted Kihyun and Myungsu to share in the moment. It pulsed inside them, reminding them it was there, and then it retreated. It pulled back with such force that the city finally understood sadness. It observed, from a distance, how it's two children reacted. 

And, in the end, they had reacted the way the city had hoped. Had dreamed they would. The city had done it's job, this job. And now it needed to return to being a city, just a city. The emptiness they felt would soon be replaced with each other and as the city watched, that is exactly what happened. 

The city watches everyone, but the city no longer reaches out to them. The city has always known what it wanted and, for now, the city wants to be alone. It wants to observe and protect. But mostly it wants its citizens to be free. And free they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! If you're curious, the chapter titles were part of my 2016 Nanowrimo challenge 50 fics where Myungsu is one half of the pairing), hence why they have the number in front of them. I really hope you enjoyed this story. I really like writing science fiction and I wanted to try something with a sentient (of sorts) city. Again, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this journey.


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